The Mousetrap

LOMBARD. Probably only were nine to begin with. We assumed there were ten because of the rhyme. (ARMSTRONGenters Left 1. He is upset, but striving to appear calm. Shuts door and stands against it.) Hullo, Armstrong, what’s the matter?

ARMSTRONG. Mrs. Rogers is dead.

(WARGRAVE rises.)

BLORE and VERA. No! How?

(VERA to Right end Left sofa.)

ARMSTRONG. Died in her sleep. Rogers thought she was still under the influence of the sleeping draught I gave her and came down without disturbing her. He lit the kitchen fire and did this room. Then, as she hadn’t appeared, he went up, was alarmed by the look of her and went hunting for me. (Pause) She’s been dead about five hours, I should say. (Sits down Left. VERA sits Left sofa.)

BLORE. What was it? Heart?

ARMSTRONG. Impossible to say. It may have been.

BLORE. After all, she had a pretty bad shock last night.

ARMSTRONG. Yes.

WARGRAVE. (Comes down to Left end of Right sofa) She might have been poisoned, I suppose, Doctor?

ARMSTRONG. It is perfectly possible.

WARGRAVE. With the same stuff as young Marston?

ARMSTRONG. No, not cyanide. It would have to have been some narcotic or hypnotic. One of the barbiturates, or chloral. Something like that.

BLORE. You gave her some sleeping powders last night, didn’t you?

ARMSTRONG. (Rises; crossing to cabinet Right for drink of water) Yes, I gave her a mild dose of Luminal.

BLORE. Didn’t give her too much, did you?

ARMSTRONG. Certainly not. What do you mean?

BLORE. All right—no offence, no offence. I just thought that perhaps if she’d had a weak heart—

ARMSTRONG. The amount I gave her could not have hurt anyone.

LOMBARD. Then what exactly did happen?

ARMSTRONG. Impossible to say without an autopsy.

WARGRAVE. If, for instance, this death had occurred in the case of one of your private patients, what would have been your procedure?

ARMSTRONG. (Crossing Left; sits down Left) Without any previous knowledge of the woman’s state of health, I could certainly not give a certificate.

VERA. She was a very nervous-looking creature. She had a bad fright last night. Perhaps it was heart failure.

ARMSTRONG. Her heart certainly failed to beat—but what caused it to fail?

EMILY. (Firmly and with emphasis) Conscience.

(They all jump and look at her. WARGRAVE to Right.)

ARMSTRONG. What exactly do you mean by that, Miss Brent?

EMILY. You all heard—She was accused, together with her husband, of having deliberately murdered her former employer—an old lady.

BLORE. And you believe that’s true, Miss Brent?

EMILY. Certainly. You all saw her last night. She broke down completely and fainted. The shock of having her wickedness brought home to her was too much for her. She literally died of fear.

ARMSTRONG. (Doubtfully) It is a possible theory. One cannot adopt it without more exact knowledge of her state of health. If there was a latent cardiac weakness—

EMILY. Call it, if you prefer, An Act of God.

(EVERYONE is shocked.)

BLORE. Oh, no, Miss Brent. (Moves up Left).

(LOMBARD to window.)

EMILY. (Emphatically) You regard it as impossible that a sinner should be struck down by the wrath of God? I do not.

WARGRAVE. (Strokes his chin. His voice is ironic. Coming down Right) My dear lady, in my experience of ill doing, Providence leaves the work of conviction and chastisement to us mortals—and the process is often fraught with difficulties. There are no short cuts.

BLORE. Let’s be practical. What did the woman have to eat and drink last night after she went to bed?

ARMSTRONG. Nothing.

BLORE. Nothing at all? Not a cup of tea? Or a glass of water? I’ll bet you she had a cup of tea. That sort always does.

ARMSTRONG. Rogers assures me she had nothing whatever.

BLORE. He might say so.

LOMBARD. So that’s your idea?

BLORE. Well, why not? You all heard that accusation last night. What if it’s true? Miss Brent thinks it is, for one. Rogers and his missus did the old lady in. They’re feeling quite safe and happy about it—

VERA. Happy?